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  ‘Then see to the others. I cannot come to greater harm here and you can do nothing until this beam is lifted away. I shall be alright.’

  ‘If you say so, Sister.’ She sees the abbess’ feet turn, at first hesitantly, and then more decisively, and disappear towards the door.

  There is a sudden crash as yet another block of masonry falls from the roof, and then silence. Maddalena uses her elbows to try to change position, but she cannot break free from the half-kneeling position in which she is trapped. She brings her elbows beneath her, and tries her best to relax, her forehead on her crossed wrists.

  It is quiet now. Outside she can hear the murmur of voices, but around her the broken chapel appears to be sighing, as timbers twist and moan in resentful response to their new-found positions. She closes her eyes and concentrates on relaxing.

  ***

  It is growing dark when she is woken by the patter of feet. The abbess once again; there is a rough tear in the leather of her right shoe. She noticed it before. The feet approach and stop, at the end of the pew-tunnel; two yards from her face. With difficulty, the abbess kneels and her face appears.

  ‘How are you, Sister?’ Only the outline of her hood can be seen, but the familiar voice is comforting.

  ‘I have been in more pain. Childbirth was much worse than this.’ As she speaks, she feels a fullness in her lungs, and an overpowering desire to cough. She does so, and to her dismay, tastes blood. ‘I wish I could lift myself upright. This position is not helping me.’ She tries to keep her voice bright, but the taste of blood has frightened her.

  ‘The men say they will come as soon as possible. They have other fallen buildings in the village and the monks are in the same position as us.’

  It is now so dark she cannot even make out the outline of the abbess’ hood. Only her voice remains to ward off loneliness. Maddalena coughs again and this time feels the blood run out of the corner of her mouth. Her breathing is becoming shallow. She sees her father’s face and hears his voice. You have internal bleeding. If you cannot get upright, your lungs may fill and you may drown in your own blood.

  ‘I think you may have to prepare yourself for a night here.’ The abbess has wriggled forward and her face is now close; the voice a whisper, almost conspiratorial.

  ‘I do not think I will survive until the morning.’ With great difficulty, Maddalena turns her left elbow under her and rests on the elbow and shoulder. The change makes her breathing ever so slightly easier and she rests, trying to regain her strength. In front of her she can sense the abbess breathing. She knows Madonna Arcangelica is willing her to hang on but at the same time, knows that platitudes will not help, so she does not speak.

  Maddalena sees Carlo’s face. Her greatest achievement; if only the cardinal could wield his authority now. But she knows life is not like that.

  Now Cosimo’s face appears, and she smiles. Hello Cosimo! You have come to say goodbye, haven’t you? As I have nearly done to you on more than one occasion since entering this place of too much contemplation. Many is the time my faith in you has slipped and faltered, but I never lost it completely; and finally, as part of me had always known you would, you sent word, and all was well after all.

  Many times in her life she has wondered what death would be like. Now, with a calmness that surprises her, she thinks she knows. While there is hope, you fight. But once the reality, the certainty of the situation reaches you, the need to fight goes and instead, knowing you can do no more, you relax and prepare to go to that other place. Whether it exists or not (and over the years, ever since her slavery, she has harboured recurring doubts) now no longer seems to matter. She can go into oblivion knowing she has done all she can; that she has made the best she could out of a situation that many would have considered impossible.

  And then she feels her heartbeat begin to quicken. But she has not done all she can. Lorenzo’s gold! Her task is incomplete. Cosimo believed in her, relied on her and she has accepted his trust. She cannot now let it fail. Not just because of a roof beam.

  With the clarity that she normally only experiences in those first thoughtful moments after waking, when everything is calm and ordered and before the detritus of the day begins to clutter her mind, she knows now what she needs to do. She has two tasks. Two things she must do before she allows herself to let go.

  First, she must tell the abbess everything; interpret the poem, explain exactly what Donatello and Cosimo have done, and ensure that when the time comes, Lorenzo will be able to find his money and put it to good use.

  And second, through her journal, she must tell Cosimo what she has done.

  ‘Are you there?’ Her breathing is so shallow now that speech is becoming difficult.

  ‘I am here. I shall not leave you. Not unless you ask me to do so.’ The abbess’ voice is controlled, although Maddalena can hear the quavering emotion behind it.

  ‘I have little time. I must tell you everything that Donatello told me when he visited me here. I cannot die and take the secret with me. You must now carry it on, until the time comes for Lorenzo to inherit his salvation. And after that, I must write to Cosimo; one final entry in my journal.’

  ‘Are you sure you can write? In that position?’

  ‘I must find a way. I have no choice. I owe Cosimo everything. He gave me my life. And I owe him a debt of honour . . . as well as . . . of love.’ Her breathing is becoming so difficult she can hardly get the words out.

  ‘I understand.’ To Maddalena’s relief, Madonna Arcangelica does not try to tell her that her fears are unfounded. She knows there is no time for such insincerities. They both know there is work to be done.

  ‘Can you bring me my casket? The journal is inside it and so are my letters from Cosimo and the guide-poem that Donatello brought with him. And my writing materials?’

  ‘Yes, I will fetch them immediately, and a lamp. Are you sure you can write in that position?’

  ‘I have no choice.’

  The abbess struggles backwards and with a groan, regains her feet. Maddalena hears her footsteps retreating and rests. She must hang on until the work is done. She dare not fall asleep, but she can rest. She must rest.

  ***

  The sound of the abbess’ footsteps wakes her and she is aware that something is different. A full moon has come out and is shining directly through the great hole in the roof and onto the floor around her. Even here, close to her and beneath the shadow of the broken pews, there is enough light to see.

  ‘I have brought them, as you asked.’ The abbess pushes a small lamp and the casket forward into the little tunnel before her and follows behind, sliding them forward as she comes. She pushes the lamp to one side and places the journal in front of Maddalena. Then she opens the casket and waits. ‘Ready.’

  ‘The small note, folded once only, on top of the pile.’ Maddalena watches her unfold it and nods. ‘Can you read it by this light?’

  ‘I think so.’ The abbess reads the poem aloud.

  ‘Yes. Good. Now I shall tell you what it means.’ She is finding it increasingly hard to speak.

  Quietly, lying on her side and occasionally pausing for breath, Maddalena explains the whole plan, until the abbess declares herself satisfied that she understands it all.

  She lies, panting on her left shoulder. ‘Now the journal, if I may.’ Madonna Arcangelica slides the journal forward and arranges pen and ink beside it. She moves the lamp until Maddalena nods, and then gives her the pen.

  Maddalena writes.

  Dearest Cosimo,

  God has, it seems, chosen to punish me for my lack of faith. I should never have doubted your word. Now it is too late and I am doubly damned, for in my weakness, I fear I may fail you again.

  You put your trust in me, on behalf of Lorenzo, but now I cannot deliver my side of the bargain, for I have not long to live. I have asked Madonna Arcangelica to accept my part and she has agreed to do so. I put my trust in her.

  It came at midday, as we were at our d
evotions. A great roar and shaking of the ground, until part of the building fell asunder. Mercifully everyone was saved, except your sinner, for a great timber hit me and my back is broken. The timber lies on me still, too heavy for the sisters to lift. Now I truly know what it is to carry the cross.

  I shall not endure this coming night.

  All my love,

  Mad . . .

  Gently, the abbess reaches forward, lifts the pen from the page, and places it, together with Maddalena’s other possessions, back in the casket. Maddalena is asleep now and appears to be at peace. She prays that they will come early in the morning, but nevertheless, to be on the safe side, she administers last rites.

  That done, Madonna Arcangelica folds her own arms, rests her head on her forearms and allows herself to drift into sleep. She will not leave Suora Maddalena here alone. Not tonight.

  By her elbow, the candle in the little lamp comes to its end, gutters and goes out.

  ***

  Maddalena senses the candle’s last flicker, and opens her eyes. In the moonlight, she can see that the abbess has stayed with her, and she smiles. Knowing she is not alone, she allows herself to slip back into sleep. Eyes closed, she says a last prayer, thanks her parents for giving her life, and Cosimo for making her life what it has been. As she slides away she thinks about her life and coming to terms with death. For everyone it comes too soon, but for everyone it comes, and she knows she must accept it.

  To fight death is to lose all dignity.

  Chapter 29

  An Abbess Alone

  Convento di San Damiano 2nd February 1464

  It is dawn. The abbess wakes; cold, stiff and disoriented. She begins to lift her head, confused as to her whereabouts, and the back of her head hits the pew above her. It is then that she looks ahead of her; at the dim outline of Suora Maddalena.

  ‘Sister?’

  There is no reply and already Madonna Arcangelica’s heart is sinking.

  She reaches out and feels the forehead, still resting on the clenched fists. It is cold. Cold as the stone of the floor, and so are the hands. She clasps the two hands in hers, gripping them; hoping somehow to change the truth she knows is unassailable. But it is not to be: like it or not, Suora Maddalena is dead.

  The abbess has lost many nuns in the course of her life, but none has left the hole in her side that she now feels. Suora Maddalena had been special. Perhaps it was because she had come late in life to the convent; bringing with her a lifetime of experience of the outside world, so that the presumed superiority of the Mother Superior was, without any specific agreement between them, put aside in place of . . . what? Mutual respect certainly. Friendship also, measured by their willingness to address the sometimes uncomfortable, but respectful disagreement. But most of all, warmth; the radiant glow of one human being felt by another. Maddalena; in whom, she now realises with the aching regret of those who are too late, there was no malice.

  She finds herself unwilling to withdraw from the special closeness that she still feels for the body in front of her, as if knowing that as soon as she wriggles backwards, as soon as she stands, as soon as she begins to look around her at whatever the new day has brought, she will finally be forced to admit the separation between them, brought about by Maddalena’s death.

  Already her head is beginning to fill with things she had meant to tell Maddalena and had not found the time or the opportunity to mention. Already the questions are starting to pile up; how did this remain unclear, how could I have failed to ask that? But most of all, what do I do now?

  For a moment she feels a sense of panic as the magnitude of the responsibility that she accepted the previous night dawns on her. What specifically is she supposed to do? Should she write to the Medici family, and if so, to whom? What are the protocols with such people? At the meetings they had had together, the Magnificent Cosimo had been easy to talk to, but on every occasion the step-by-step process of their conversation had been driven by him, and she had only, as she now appreciates, been a passive participant.

  Perhaps it is Lorenzo she should inform? The whole scheme, as she understood it, was intended for his benefit. But if that is the case, why has he not been told already? He is, of course, still young. What age now? Fifteen. But at what age should he be informed? At what age was it intended that he should inherit the money? She had forgotten to ask, and Maddalena, for all her care, had omitted to tell her.

  Lying on her face, she looks through the gloom toward the body of her friend and wills her to provide the answers. With some last glimmer of hope, she calls out her name and once again clasps those freezing hands in hers. But it is hopeless. Maddalena is now alone. And so, in a sense, is she. But she has made a promise and she must fulfil it.

  The essence of the scheme, of course, is the avoidance of the next generation. It is that which creates the secrecy. The whole reason Cosimo had to go to such great lengths; sending Maddalena to the convent, was to allow his secret to walk round Piero and Giovanni. And, presumably, their mother and their wives? Now Giovanni is dead. But Piero: the one Maddalena had always dismissed as useless; the future head of the family, Lorenzo’s father, he is still alive.

  Of course, if Cosimo is still alive when Piero dies, then she will not be needed, as Cosimo can hand the money over to his grandson himself. He would inherit anyway, so there will be no problem. So there, then, is the essence of this hard-faced scheme: the active avoidance of Piero after Cosimo’s death. She shakes her head. What degree of disappointment in his son would a father need to make him design such a scheme? And how much must he have trusted Maddalena, to entrust her with its fulfilment, actively avoiding Contessina, Piero, Lucrezia, Giovanni and Ginevra?

  Madonna Arcangelica squeezes Maddalena’s cold hands. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers. ‘I knew you would tell me what to do. Now I can say farewell to you in the knowledge that I can carry the burden you passed on to me and fulfil Cosimo’s wishes when the time comes.’

  Awkwardly, she creeps forward on her elbows and kisses Maddalena’s forehead. ‘Goodbye old friend.’

  As she begins to shuffle backwards, voices appear from the door to the chapel. ‘I think she’s in here. She came back last night to stay with Suora Maddalena and comfort her in her imprisonment. They must both be here still; under these timbers.’

  She recognises the voice of the gatekeeper and as she finally escapes from the clutches of the crushed pews, she rolls over and, painfully, sits up.

  ‘I am here, Sister. I have bad news. Suora Maddalena is dead. She died in the night; I believe peacefully and reconciled to her God. I was able to administer last rites in a form. I trust, in the circumstances, it will suffice.’

  Suora Fidelita, the gatekeeper, helps the abbess to her feet. ‘These men are from the village, Reverend Mother. They have brought ladders and lifting equipment; levers, a tripod, and block and tackle.’

  Six men stand awkwardly, moving their weight from side to side, embarrassed and perhaps overcome by their surroundings. ‘Where do you want us to start?’

  The abbess points to the great roof beam and the crushed pews beneath it. ‘Here, if you please. One of our number is beneath that beam. Perhaps you can release her?’

  The men look hesitant. ‘That beam is very heavy. If it rolls, it could injure her further. We are not specialists; just farmers.’

  Madonna Arcangelica puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘She is dead. You cannot injure her further. But I should be grateful if you would treat her body with as much respect as you can.’

  She takes one last look at the mass of timbers, heaped together like a funeral pyre. ‘She was very special.’

  She makes herself stand fully upright for the first time; her back painful after such a long, cold and constrained night. Then, for the first time, she starts to look around her. The future can wait, and so can Lorenzo’s gold. Today I have other, more urgent, responsibilities; here, in the convent. The thought goads her into action.

  ‘I will leave you men he
re, to do what you can. The nuns from the infirmary will bring a stretcher to take our dear Suora Maddalena to a place of safety until we can bury her. Once that is done, perhaps you could look at the roof? I understand you cannot repair it, but if you could make it safe, then at least we can use one of the side chapels as a place of worship until the skills and the resources are found to rebuild the main roof.’

  She begins to walk towards the door, looking from side to side, assessing.

  ‘Now sister, how much damage is there elsewhere?’

  Author’s Note

  The rapid rise and the equally rapid collapse of the Medici Bank (which was effectively all over in less than a hundred years) is a remarkable story—not least because there are so many parallels with the banking crisis of the present period.

  Cosimo de’ Medici, always strongly guided by the safe judgement of his brilliant General Manager, Giovanni d’Amerigo Benci, built a powerful organisation whose structure ensured that the main shareholders (the maggiori) were protected from ruin when (inevitably) problems arose in distant branches. It was an organisation whose accounting systems and banking documentation allowed one bank to operate and control events all over western Europe; and whose management structure ensured that the managers of those distant branches were motivated to act in the best interests of the whole and not just of their own branch.

  Unfortunately, things changed in mid-July 1455 when Giovanni Benci died.

  By this time, Cosimo was sixty-six years old and no longer the man he had once been. Sadly, neither of his sons, Piero nor Giovanni, was really suited to running a global bank. The bank had been organised as an accomanda—a special form of partnership with limited liability, and it was this top company which then entered into a series of separate, tightly-worded partnership agreements with the individual branches, from London and Bruges to Ancona and Lyon. With Benci’s death, as one of the maggiori partners, it was necessary to sign a new partnership agreement, and it was here that everything began to go wrong.